


The Plane to Scotland

by MistressPandora



Series: The Metallicar Soundtrack [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: Bobby asked Sam and Dean to go to Scotland to find Crowley's bones. Dean's begun to think about Castiel as more than a friend, which freaks him out. Sam is still acting weird. And everything  is happening in and around Dean's least favorite inventions: airplanes.





	1. Living on a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bon Jovi's ["Living on a Prayer."](https://youtu.be/bXsmGSnq3lE)

After Kenosha Bobby asked Dean and Sam to go to freaking Scotland and though every fiber of Dean’s body kicked and screamed like a girl for at least two reasons, he couldn’t refuse Bobby. On the one hand, Dean was absolutely not afraid of flying, he just hated it. He loathed and despised it with a fiery passion that burned deep within him like a supernova. That hatred just happened to make him very tense and jumpy, but it definitely wasn’t fear. On the exact same hand, the thought of being trapped in a jet-propelled tin can over the Atlantic for nine hours with Sam right now gave him a wicked case of both the heebs and the jeebs. But after the stern come-to-Jesus Bobby had given them over the phone moments before dropping the transatlantic flight bomb on them, there was absolutely no way in hell they were going to tell him no. 

At the airport, after getting through customs and a security checkpoint that felt way too much like an unsedated colonoscopy--those agents were really suspicious of two gruff men traveling on an international flight with only carry-on bags--Dean made the excuse that he needed a preflight beer and left Sammy at the gate. Dean decided it was only a lie if he didn’t actually consume at least one beer, so he found a small booth in a bar further down the terminal that wasn’t terribly busy at 11pm. The waitress only threw him a little bit of a side-eye when he ordered his draught, but with a wink and a smirk from Dean she was blushing along with her eye roll and retreating to the safety of the counter. Dean lifted his glass to take a drink and glowered when the cocktail napkin stuck to it. He shook out a little salt onto the napkin before setting the glass down again.  

Leaning back, Dean slid his cell out of his pocket and scrolled through the contacts, pausing over Lisa’s name. Dean took another slow pull from his beer, feeling briefly clever that the napkin didn’t hitch a ride. His thumb hovered over the call button, twitching slightly with indecision. One heartbeat he was about to press send and the next he was thinking about Cas’s lips on his. Dean locked the screen of his cell and dropped it on the table, chasing his guilt with a gulp of beer. It didn’t work. It never worked. Dean felt a flash of heat run through his face and arms and he licked foam from his lips. 

The bar had been mostly silent save for the sound of traveling milling about outside where the dark grey tile of the dining area met the ugly cream tile of the rest of the terminal. Whether it was on a timer or the waitress turned on the radio to drown out the sound of Dean’s silent brooding, Dean didn’t know. But nonetheless, the radio came on and, wonder of wonders, it was not only Bon Jovi but the embarrassingly catchy chorus of “Living on a Prayer” that Dean suddenly realized he was humming quietly. It was all too predictable that the word  _ prayer _ made him think of Cas and for the briefest of moments he thought about listening to this stupid song with Cas. A tiny part of Dean’s inner monologue that he’d been so ruthlessly abusing treated him to details like listening to this stupid song with Cas. In the backseat of the impala. Making out like teenagers.

Suddenly the stupid song was mentally bad-touching him and Dean shuddered. He shook his head and muttered, “Nope. No no no. Nope,” drained his beer, dropped a bill on the table, and bolted.  _ Lisa _ , he reminded himself sternly.  _ I am  _ so _ not available. _ He was halfway back down the terminal to meet Sam again when Dean began pondering the practical definition of “prayer” and stopped dead in his tracks, panic punching him in the gut with an icy fist. What if Cas could hear him, knew what he was thinking about? And worst of all,  _ What if he knew it was starting to turn me on? _

Dean took a breath and looked around, feeling naked and transparent and exposed, like absolutely everyone in the airport  _ knew _ exactly what he’d been thinking about. No one was looking at him of course. No one noticed his nervous laugh or his pathetic, awkward grin as he made his way back to the gate. Dean caught sight of the back of Sam’s head and hesitated, waffling between being creeped out by Sam’s weird ass behavior and freaked out that he would turn to Dean and blurt out, “Cut the crap, Dean, I know you’re gay,” without looking up from his newspaper. Dean steeled himself for the worst and sank into the chair next to Sam with a heavy sigh. 

Sam didn’t look up from his newspaper when he said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean replied, way too quickly in a voice that was too high. When Sam turned his head slightly to raise an eyebrow at him, Dean cleared his throat and sat back in his chair nonchalantly and braced himself.

Sam went back to his newspaper.

Dean shuddered again. Creepy. He scrutinized his giant little brother under furrowed brows. Shell-of-Sam. Dean took a deep breath and blew it out, puffing out his cheeks. He eyed his watch. He drummed a few rapid beats on his thighs. He let out another, shorter sigh. He checked his phone and put it back in his pocket. 

Sam left his gaze on his newspaper. “Something on your mind, Dean?”

_ So much _ . “Huh? Uh, nope.” He drummed on his thighs again and shook his head. “Nope. Nooo. Nothing, just… ready to get this show on the road.”

Sam turned the page, face expressionless except for the faintest frown that only touched his eyebrows. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

_ Oh crap, he does know. How could he know?  _ His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the obnoxiously perky woman’s voice announcing their boarding zone. Sam folded up his newspaper and rose to his feet, swatting Dean’s shoulder with the newspaper and stooping to pick up his duffle. 

“That’s us,” Sam said, heading toward the gate. He stopped after a few paces and turned to make sure Dean was following. He wasn’t. “Dude. Are you coming?”

Dean adjusted his grip on his bag and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. He squared his shoulders and nodded. With an effort, Dean managed to put one foot in front of the other.

  
Yep, it was going to be a long, long night. 


	2. The Number of the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the plane to Scotland, turbulence wakes the Beast, who happens to be sitting right behind Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Iron Maiden's
> 
>  
> 
> ["The Number of the Beast."](https://youtu.be/_3Vynew5mrw)

After about two hours into the flight and six full hum-throughs of “Nothing Else Matters”, Sam began insisting that Dean put in some headphones and just listen to music. Dean shook his head, knuckles white and fingers beginning to ache from gripping the armrests. “What, you think Crowley’s goons couldn’t get to us here? Nah-uh, man, we need to be sharp.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head with an exasperated sigh and opened a novel that had been abandoned in the seat pocket. Screw him.

Dean’s eyes prowled the cabin, occasionally casting glares over his shoulder, looking for anything suspicious. Which, he figured after a tight smile from a flight attendant with a plain face and fit body, probably just made  _ him _ look suspicious. 

Barely five hours into the red-eye flight,  _ It _ began.

With a low  _ ding _ , the FASTEN SEATBELTS signs illuminated and the cabin began to jostle and shake. It was enough for Sam to peel his nose out of that damned book and glance around. He arched an eyebrow at Dean, shrugged, and went back to reading God-knows-what. Dean gritted his teeth and started in on the seventh round of “Nothing Else Matters.” He was tense and extremely alert, but Dean Winchester was definitely not afraid. 

A male voice with an Anywhere, USA accent came over the intercom. “Sorry for the bumpy road there, folks. Looks like we’re coming up on some turbulence. The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign just until we get through it. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Sam didn’t look up when he spoke in a quiet voice with very little inflection at all. “Dean, for once in our lives, it is literally just the wind. Chill.”

“You chill,” Dean bit back in a harsh whisper. Sam rolled his eyes again as the cabin shuddered hard.

Then the plane dropped out of the freaking sky. Someone let out a very loud, very frightened gasp. It was definitely  _ not _ Dean; he was too busy biting a hole in his cheek because blood tasted better than a girly shriek. Sam, the giant weirdo, just looked out the window at the dark sky and  _ hmm _ ed to himself. Okay, so the plane didn’t  _ actually _ drop out of the  _ entire _ sky, just enough that Dean was pretty sure his guts had been relocated to his throat.

Then  _ It _ woke up the  _ Beast _ .

The Beast was an absolutely  _ charming _ young boy of about four years old seated directly behind Dean. The Beast had stumbled onto the plane clutching the strap of his mother’s purse in one hand and a chocolate brown teddy bear in the other, looking positively exhausted. When they sat down behind Dean and Sam, Dean didn’t think twice because that kid was going to be out before they even hit the runway. Smart mom.

But then  _ It _ became too much for the Beast to sleep through and he awoke with a start and immediately began sobbing hysterically. At first Dean sympathized because hey, being woken up out of a dead sleep to the feeling that you were plummeting to your actual death is no fun. Especially when you thought about how hitting the ocean from this altitude would rip the plane to shreds and no one would find all the bodies in their watery grave.

_ Nope, still not scared. _

But then the Beast’s frightened sobs and sniffles ratcheted up to cranky wails, then what sounded like a little fist pounding. In under twenty minutes the Beast had made it all the way up to a Five Alarm Tantrum. Mother of the Beast was clearly trying her best,  _ coo _ ing and  _ shush _ ing and singing soothing lullabies, but the Beast would not be appeased. 

Dean’s initial thought was that the shaking of his seat had more to do with the bumpy flight that the Beast, but then Dean felt what was obviously two small shoes kicking the hell out of his back. Mother of the Beast scolded the Beast for it, so Dean held his temper. 

An hour later the rough patch of sky was behind them and the Beast had still not calmed down. Dean turned in his seat to look back at the Beast, who didn’t notice. Mother of the Beast looked worn out and apologetic. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said desperately. “He’s usually a really heavy sleeper.” She was almost shouting over the Beast’s tantrum that, impressively, was still going strong.

Dean gave her a tight smile that he hoped looked polite. “Hey, kid,” Dean said to the Beast, but the Beast didn’t look up from his fit. “Kid! You, with the bear.” With a nudge from Mother of the Beast, the Beast finally looked up at Dean and hit pause on the hysterics. “Give your mom a break, okay? It’s a long flight for her too.”

The Beast nodded slowly and silently. 

“And quick kicking my seat, would ya?”

The Beast nodded again and gripped his teddy bear tighter. Mother of the Beast mouthed a silent  _ thank you _ at Dean.

For ten whole minutes it was blessedly quiet. The Beast politely asked his mother for a snack. Dean heard some shuffling and rustling around behind him that apparently didn’t have the desired results fast enough because the Beast started whining and there were those little shoes stomping against Dean’s back again. “Here!” Mother of the Beast said when the rummaging noises stopped, followed by a vaguely sarcastic, “You’re welcome,” which was not, Dean noted, in response to any sort of statement of appreciation from the Beast himself.

Dean went back to glaring around the cabin when the kicking finally died down. He stretched his fingers, knuckles popping a little as he worked the tension out of them, and also resumed thinking about how much he loathed flying. 

A small sound, like a tiny object hitting plastic with a  _ tap _ , interrupted Dean’s thoughts. Then another  _ tap _ . Then another that was accompanied by a sensation not unlike dry rain. He looked down and saw that it was beginning to rain…. Cheerios. The kicking had resumed as well, but rather than the angry, Beastly stomps, it was softer but no less annoying, like the toes of those same small shoes as the Beast swung his feet in some mischievous display of happiness. 

Dean let out a long, suffering sigh and brushed Cheerios out of his hair. Sam shot him a vaguely amused look and Dean held out a handful of the cereal to him. “Hungry?” 

Sam snorted and shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”  


Dean was going to be finding Cheerios in his clothes for days.


End file.
